Bouleversement
by Lord Cameron. Master of Thorns
Summary: This takes place in the Heroes of Might and Magic realm, and is about a necromancer. It's only vaguely a Fan Fic, and only then because it takes place in the right world. But... I liked the story, so I'm posting it. Read, have fun! .


Bouleversement

The world goes black as a bullet pierces my heart, the red-black blood flowing freely to the cold ground below. The red clouds of war float freely above my cooling corpse as the fighting continues, un-flinching for even my death. Not that I'm one of the greatest of this war to die, not even one of the greatest on the battlefield. As I close my mortal eyes for the final time, a different sight supervenes. Angels dot the grand battlefield, their presence more pronounced than the hundreds of tanks that hulk like metal behemoths above the shell-shocked land. Being extremely distrait in my newly-acquired afterlife, I stay silent to their aiding hands. The angels start to seem as reapers, taking souls from the graveyard into their grand, armored bosoms.

Night begins to fall upon the battlefield, and the uneasy peace that comes with sleep settles over the mortal battleground of the War to end all Wars. Out of the smoky fog, a more redoubtable visage begins to appear. A paroxysm of fear overtakes me, as a black cloaked figure emerges from the fog. One among several hundred. An army of reapers, real reapers, stalks towards my long-cold body. But they can sense my movement. They can smell my fear. They know. They're coming. My heart pangs with fear and sadness, as I see one lock on to my scent. It slowly haunts towards me, floating over the barren and blood-stained ground towards my pitiful, cowering self.

The first rays of dawn glint over the landscape, and I know why the savages of old worshipped the sun. I am willing to worship the sun as well, not really knowing that an entire night had gone by of a slowly stalking reaper. I call forth to the angels, those that take the chosen out of the war-torn land. More and more people are being taken away… From the other side? What? Is it true that my side, my exiguous defense of my life, limb, and countrymen, is nothing but heresy? Has my God finally shown his hand, after I am dead and can no longer preach anything but His word? Yes. He has forsaken me. When I need His salvation, He does nothing but watch. Fine. I shall go with the reapers this night. I shall go willingly to my doom. There is nothing else I can do.

As the last rays of the saving sun fade over the horizon, I begin to attempt to stand. My maladroit legs seen those of a newborn, useless and decrepit. My knees, facetious in their new existence, seem to find it jovial to trip me back to my back, again and again. But I will never give up, and never give in. I will not walk away from this, regardless of my ability to do so. I will exact my revenge upon those angels that have denied me my salvation, and that revenge will come at just the opportune time. As I fall to my knees once again, I stare down into my own pain-wracked face. My once-pleasant physiognomy now tells of a soul that is not at rest, not in peace. Not, of course, that I believed in any of that junk about looking into a person's soul. Our souls would come out when they were good and ready. Then they would be judged. That was my philosophy. But the only person judging me is myself. Just as it has always been.

How long it took me to realize that my soul was going to stay there, on that battlefield, I would never know. The few times I chose to look around at the world around me, I saw people zipping around like flies. The reapers and angels came and went at a faster rate as well, everything eventually blurring into one. I was beginning to realize that time is nothing. And now, as I stand before a world without Time, I see something different than any normal human can imagine.

It's not a glittering paradise, nor is it a burning hell. Somewhere between… I have to wonder if this is the mythical Purgatory that is spoken of by my Father and his priestly brothers. My terror quickly slakes, as I still see angels and reapers around here. Strangely, I see no demons of any kind. Maybe the demons are gone, or maybe that they are represented by the reapers. But the reapers don't look like they live within a world of fire and brimstone… They look to be something different, something unique. They are definitely of the world of the dead, as the normal populace views them.

One night, I begin to walk towards the reaper that stalks me at night. I know that he is going to get me, to take me away to the place that the other reapers gather. Nothing is going to save me, I have been resolute in going with them for quite some time now. But, I realize, I have to do this willingly. I'm not sure, but I would assume that every step that I take is going to be a willing one along the path. Maybe that is to suit some greater purpose. I will resolve not to take a step I do not understand, and maybe I will be able to learn something at every step of the journey. The road goes ever, ever on… Especially now. My revenge will be a long way's off. But, given the right circumstances, it will come. And when it does, I will have my revenge.

The reaper raises a skeletal hand towards me, pointing a bone hand towards my transparent face. Not that I know my face is transparent, mind, but I am fairly sure from the feel of my own face. It's a strange feeling, to have one's face be transparent. It makes that person feel hollow, like there was no substance to their entire being. But, as I think of this, the reaper has floated forwards, has actually touched me with that bony hand. I feel a sharp pull in his, or her, direction, and I am locked to this reaper's side. Their quota has been fulfilled. And what a strong soul, to still have a will in the other world!

The reaper takes me back, across the field of the war that happened so long ago and yesterday. With them I join the constant stream of souls, from this world, off to the other worlds, the outer planes. They all seem to blend together into this rotten green stream of consciousness, moving from one plane to another. I suddenly and completely realize one thing, that I am going to rule this place. All of it. With that sudden realization, my metaphysical body suddenly takes on a new form. That which could only have been described as the weakest of specters now is formed out of a more powerful aura. I am no longer transparent, or even translucent. I am also not moving, even in the least. I am now more powerful than the bond that the reaper had upon me, and I can now hover within this space by my own will. This brings me to a realization.

My body, and my mind with it, are dead. There is nothing I can do to bring them back to life, unless I bring myself back to life as well. But how do I bring myself back to life? I don't. Once a spirit has left the world, it can never come back. That is what I am, and all of what I am. A spirit. A dead being, forever doomed to live in the outer planes. But what about choice? Don't I get a choice in the matter? Otherwise, that wouldn't be fair!

Humans are given a choice in everything they are allowed to do! This is when I see a door. A door wreathed in fire, leading to the nine hells. This is when it dawns on me. The devils of Hell want me to go to them of free will! This is why they have no people collecting up on Earth, they don't have to! Their minions will come to them. Just as the reaper begins to sigh and float away, thinking another ghostly slave lost to the devils, I close the door. The fiery door to Hell closes, and I turn to the reaper before me.

"You have two options, reaper of souls. Either go on, and continue your quotidian existence, or stay and help me build an empire that will rival and conquer all others. It's your choice." My voice comes surprisingly easy, for someone who has been dead for an eternity and an hour. The reaper turns around, its empty hooded cloak looking me, piercing through my eyes and into my inner soul. It floats towards me, a scythe in its bony, evil-looking hands. Somewhere within the emptiness that threatens to devour my soul, it smiles.

"I shall come with you," it says, its voice rasping through the endless eternities that it has lived its un-life. "it seems like fun." I smile, and beckon for it to follow me out of the stream of souls. We float in the emptiness between worlds, and sit together, creating a demi-plane just from being in one place for more than a microsecond. They suddenly find themselves in a place of my memories, the place where all of my fantasies came true as a child. Around a fire in the great West, a herd of buffalo in the distance, the two of us sit and plan.

"It shall start as a grand city," I suggest, waving my hands grandly above the fire. But my words, as any other words, fall into the ash and smoke of the fire. They are just as useless, just as powerless. I have to show something, and the reaper knows it. So I begin to feel the power given to me by the very state of the plane I reside in. A tower begins to raise from the depths of the ground, as if it had always been there and I am only raising it to its former glory. As the greenish energies flow through my body, the necropolis that I will call home grows out of the grayish soil, the dry dirt falling away into the black abyss.

The reaper floats up towards the grand necropolis, the grandest I have ever seen. When it has finished, it looks me in the eye and I can see condescending attitude within its blank emptiness. "Do you really expect this to help you take everyone and everything? The grand necropolis at the Nexus is more terrifying and powerful than you could ever hope this place to be."

To this, I just smile. "If you build it, they will come."

And so they did.


End file.
